


Incubus Four

by flightinflame



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Blackwing typical torture, First Meetings, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Project Blackwing (Dirk Gently), Protectiveness, Sentinel/Guide, Sentinel/Guide Bonding, Soul Bond, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-07-04 08:44:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15837789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flightinflame/pseuds/flightinflame
Summary: Martin has been on his own in a  cell for months, hearing his partners tortured and unable to reach them, as the bright lights and sirens of Blackwing torture his senses. Everything changes when Priest drops someone new into his life.





	Incubus Four

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I'm posting in my sentinel verse. My version of sentinel/guide is a form of soul bonding - sentinels have extremely heightened senses, meaning they often get overwhelmed by their sensory input, and a guide (often their soulmate, but can be another guide) is needed to help calm them and help them focus. In this fic, Cross and Vogel are believed to be sentinels, and Martin and Gripps to be guides, leading to Blackwing's treatment of them. Outside of Blackwing, sentinels and guides are of equal status, although generally it is expected that leaders will be guides or neutrals. Soulbonds are often, although not always, romantic.
> 
> Also warning for Priest having a dirty mind about Martin and Vogel sharing a bed.

There was a knock on the door, and Martin could scent fear. Raw, primal, but somehow familiar - for one awful moment he thought it was his brothers before he realised that neither one of them felt that deeply. A soft whimper from the other side of the door, and he frowned a little - could be Riggins' pet, but that boy normally smelled of whatever shampoo he'd been using, an overpowering scent of sweetness that sickened him.

This one smelled of blood. The lights flickered on, and Martin clenched his hands into fists, fighting down the pain, using it to centre himself. He'd been damn lucky the guys in charge of this place were idiots, that they'd worked out Gripps was a guide but thought he was one too. And had thought Cross was a sentinel, which was hilarious - Martin had literally had to lock him out of their motel room until he took a shower once. So they'd taken the conclusion further, assumed Martin was Cross's guide, and tried to split them up. It meant Cross got to room with Gripps, and Martin got some quiet, as Cross was forced through a thousand different tests designed to torture his senses. Martin's own tests were focused on his power and his ability to be aware of the rest of his gang.

And then...Martin had found himself alone aside from when he got to see his brothers for their experiments, and those, those were often not fun. He'd heard his brothers scream more often than he'd like to remember. Mostly at the hands of the bastard who was standing outside the door, with the other one who smelled of terror and of blood.

He stood up, raising his hands behind his head. There were days he refused to stand, where he wanted to see where the fight would lead, but today he was actually interested. The door was pushed open, and the bastard walked in dragging a smaller figure - older than Riggins' boy perhaps, but not by much. The kid was wriggling and spitting and kicking, even trying to bite the hand that pinned him, until the bastard casually lifted him by his throat, laughing as the struggled.

Martin stared at the man who had just walked in, not even trying to hide his confusion.  
That never worked around the bastard.  
"The fuck you think you're doing?" He half snarled the words, trying to ignore the way the sudden brightness of the lights was making his head scream. He stayed standing, not trying to fight it because there was a kid involved. He was happy on days he got to land a punch or two before the pain began, but there was a kid. 

"Just bringing you a little friend," the bastard answered, his grip tightening for a moment before he threw the kid forwards to land at his feet. "This is Jakob Vogel. You're gonna have to share for tonight, you'll get a twin room tomorrow."  
"What-"  
"Another member of Project Incubus. I know he isn't _your_ sentinel, but thought you might be able to calm him down," the bastard explained, aiming a kick at the boy's ribs. Martin snarled in response, lips curling back angrily.

"Easy now, there's plenty of others who would take him in, thought I'd give you first refusal."  
The boy was looking up, eyes wide with terror, and Martin just glared in response.  
"Thought so," the bastard said, and walked out. The door locked, and the lights began to flicker, the room filled with a blaring alarm.

The boy screamed, thrashing about on the floor until Martin pinned him in place, his own head screaming and the boy's noise just making it worse. The kid was no older than fourteen, probably over twelve, all sharp corners and awful haircut.  
"Hey kid," he murmured, moving so that they were sat and guiding the boy's face to his shoulder, running fingers through his hair and waiting for the alarms to be turned off. The boy seemed to settle a little in his hold, and that seemed to be a sign to turn off the alarms, and to dim the lights so that they were merely painful rather than agonizing.

"It's okay," Martin murmured. "I'm gonna look out for you now. Me and the rest of our group. My name's Martin, You're one of us now."  
The boy looked up hesitantly, and Martin saw both his eyes were bruised black. One of these days, he was taking his gang out of here, and burning the whole fucking place down, that bastard inside of it. The boy shuddered.  
"You smell angry," he mumbled, practically vibrating with the emotions running through him.  
"Yeah,." Martin agreed. "I am. You wanna see if you can feed off it?"

Hesitantly the boy nodded.

***

"Marbär?" the boy - Vogel - asked, sitting up in bed and stretching. Martin pushed his leg slightly, trying to shoo him to his own cot, but already knowing it was a lost cause - since that first night, Vogel had insisted on sleeping within reach of Martin. Some days Martin complained about it, but he never actually stopped him sleeping there.

"Yes?" he asked, stealing the blanket that the boy had left behind.  
"I don't want to do my tests today."

"I know Vogel," Martin said softly. It was hard, having to deal with a child, one who wouldn't just do what they were told but would say if something hurt or frightened him. It made Martin feel sick, because Vogel would look at him as though expecting him to solve it, and he couldn't.

He'd learned to calm the younger sentinel down, his hands resting on the boy's shoulders, speaking to him softly until he was focused on where he was and not trapped in his own mind. But it wasn't easy, not when he still had his own issues to handle, his own fears that he had to keep hiding.

"I really don't want to," Vogel whispered, and Martin could smell his fear now. Vogel's fear was sharper than that of his other brothers, and he hated that smell more than anything else. He could handle the smell of blood, but not of terror, not from one of his boys.  
"I'll see what I can do," Martin promised. It wasn't much. If the guards came he could get into a fight, and if he caused enough disruption Vogel might be permitted a few hours off, as they cleaned up the mess he'd made. He knew it would hurt. But he could tell the moment the boy's fear receded, knew that he was trusted. He wouldn't let the kid down.

***

Martin cursed slightly when he heard the bastard's footsteps approaching. He'd known the man would have got involved at some point - if there was the chance to cause pain or make life difficult he was hardly going to miss it. But he'd hoped to put it off a little longer, and the bastard hadn’t been on base the last few days. The alarm sounded, and Vogel moved to stand and raise his hands, glancing at Martin who remained on his bed.

"Martin," Vogel hissed, "Marbär, it's him, it's Pri-" Martin held up his hand, cutting off the boy's words. The door opened, and the bastard stared at them.  
"Hello Martin," he greeted, gazing towards the beds - Vogel's which clearly hadn't been slept in, and Martin's own which had been, the sheets a mess because Vogel was the single most wriggly person Martin had ever met. "I see you've taken to your new Sentinel. That should make today interesting,"

Martin couldn't help the growl that escaped him at that, a low threatening sound that would send most of the guards running. The bastard raised an eyebrow.  
"You really think you could stop me? It's easy enough to cultivate a soul bond if we give him the right drugs, and there are bound to be people here who could give him a better life than you could offer..." He paused, then shook his head. "Still, what I meant was they're reuniting Incubus today, and I want to see how your old sentinel deals with being replaced by a younger prettier model."

Martin snarled slightly, but reached out his hand to Vogel. Vogel frowned at him, confusion clear on his face.  
"Come on boy," Martin murmured. "I want you to meet the rest of the gang."

That at least seemed to motivate Vogel to move, scurrying to stand beside Martin. The bastard looked at the two of them and smirked.  
"Come on."

Martin walked along, keeping a warning grip on Vogel's arm to stop him from trying to escape or lash out. This could be the chance he needed to see the others, and he was already wondering if Gripps could give him some advice - he knew how to try and pull himself out from a Sentinel trance when he got overwhelmed, but doing it for someone else was more of a challenge. Vogel bounced slightly, grinning at Martin.

"You okay there kid?"  
"Can't believe I finally get to meet them!" Vogel answered in a stage-whisper which had clearly never been anywhere near even the concept of an actual whisper. Martin smiled slightly, pausing as they reached the door, the bastard punching in a code before they stepped in.

His brothers were there, both in straight-jackets and under armed guard. Martin supposed he was lucky he'd gotten to keep his arms free so far. 

He took a couple of steps forwards, pausing when he saw a black circle tattooed around Cross's eye. Another low growl escaped him and the bastard laughed.  
"We wanted to see how he responded to different stimulus. It helps track eye movements. He not pretty enough for you anymore?"

Martin could see that both of his brothers looked frantic - Cross in particular looked pale.  
"Haven’t you been feeding him?" he asked, and the man shrugged a little, reaching for the gas canister which would knock them out if they tried anything.  
"He doesn't need feeding." The man answered. "I'm guessing he's got another month or more before he starves, and the hunger should distract him any way."

Martin moved forwards, grabbing Cross, looking into his eyes. Gripps moved closer, calming Martin as he tried to channel his energy into Cross. For a moment, he wasn't sure it worked, and then the blue thread connected between them, leaving him weak but keeping Cross strong for a little longer.

He heard laughter from behind him, but refused to give the bastard the satisfaction of provoking a response. Instead, he rested his head on Cross's shoulder. Cross had tried not to take too much, not to weaken him, but he still felt a little dizzy.

"'m sorry." Martin muttered, looking at the mark on Cross's face, thinking of the experiments that had been forced onto him. Experiments that should have been done to Martin himself, if Blackwing had put together the truth. Every drop of his brother's blood that had been spilled, well, that was on him. He hated that.

Gripps moved forwards.  
"It's been 574 hours since we last saw you."  
Martin quickly did some math, and felt a bubble of sickness inside him. It was too long. They hadn't been apart for more than hour before, and now they were seeing each other barely once every two months.

"You got a little one," Cross pointed out, and Martin nodded.  
"Yeah, I do. This is Vogel, Vogel, this is Cross and this is Gripps. They're like us."

Vogel nodded, staring at both older men in curiosity.

"Jakob here is Martin's new Sentinel, Christopher," the bastard informed him. After a moment Cross worked out that was something he was meant to be upset by, stepping forwards and swearing and spitting like a demon. The bastard laughed and shrugged.  
"Think you should know they been sharing a bed. Seems he's replaced you completely."

Martin could see the concern in Gripps' eyes at that comment, managed to shake his head slightly to say that it was all okay. That he was still the man they knew. 

"You know Martin," the bastard continued, "if it was up to me I think I'd leave your two sentinels in a room together. No food or water, just the two of them, see who makes it out alive. Stop any potential awkwardness between your little boyfriends that way."

Martin didn't respond, didn't allow himself to rise to the bait even as he heard Cross and Gripps snarl slightly. He moved his hand, signalling to them both to remain calm. The threat hung heavy in the air.

"But it's not up to me," the bastard conceded. "Lucky for you."  
Martin waited, hoping silently that he knew what would be said next. When he was proved right he only just managed to avoid screaming out in delight.  
"It's been decided to reunite project Incubus. The four of you will be sharing for the next few days."

Martin nodded, forcing his face to remain calm even as the others smiled. He was relieved, but showing relief could be a death sentence. The bastard chuckled, and then left, locking the door.

Martin stepped forwards, freeing Cross from the bindings, as Vogel carefully removed the sleeves which pinned Gripps' own arms across his body.  
"We're on camera," Martin muttered low, examining Cross, his gaze drawn to the new tattoo.  
"It looks fucking awesome," Cross muttered, and after a moment Martin nodded, embracing him.

"Where are the beds?" Vogel asked, and Gripps sighed.  
"There is one blanket which can be shared between the four of us but there are no raised beds or mattresses or materials which could be used in the production of them."

"What's that mean?" Vogel asked, nervous.  
"It means we're making a blanket fort," Martin said, and with that the older three members got to work, managing to arrange the blanket so that they could all curl up underneath. It offered little camouflage from the harsh lights of the room, but it let them hide from the cameras and meant that they had their own space.

Vogel curled up in the middle, Martin beside him, Gripps and Cross within reach around them.  
"Is He going to come back?" Vogel asked, and Martin hesitated.  
"Don't got to worry about that now," he explained. "It's time to get some rest kid."

He expected an argument, but instead Vogel put his head down.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you! Let me know what you thought - I've got a lot written in this universe, I'm just trying to get up the courage to post it.


End file.
